


We Didn't Know

by Riley2002



Series: Cat: Protector, Comedian, Spirit, Teacher, Guide. [1]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Dickens, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:57:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7762336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riley2002/pseuds/Riley2002
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I really dislike when details get left hanging. What happens to Dickens? Just one possibility from 3 POV.</p>
<p>Original publish date: 2013/04/05 under the title, Cats have Nine Lives, Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Myka

* * *

_"I have studied many philosophers and many cats. The wisdom of cats is infinitely superior."_

– Hippolyte Taine 

* * *

* * *

 

She didn't know. She didn't know how much she cared. Neither did I. We didn't know that he wiggled his way into our hearts in the short time he was with us. That's real magic. No artifact has the power he had. Maybe it hurts more when you don't know. You don't expect the emptiness. He was Emily's. He wasn't hers. He wasn't mine. He wasn't ours. We were his chosen ones. We belonged to him. We loved him and we never knew.

He was sick. Kidney failure they told us. They said there was nothing more they could do. Sometimes they just can't be fixed. "There is nothing more we can do. We can't fix him. It's one of most common disease that cats finally succumb to." That's all I hear. My heart breaks and my stomach drops. She can always fix things; bring them back to life. "Twist this and turn that. This wire goes from here to there. That bolt goes there; tighten it just a little... a little more… that's just right." How many times did I play the part of her assistant to hand her tools and parts? Sometimes it required the slightest jiggle here and a bang over there. It could always be fixed. In her mind it had t's own life. This time, it couldn't be fixed. This time there are no more tools or parts. Like her sweet Christina. This is something that could not be fixed. She had tried once before to fix what could not be fixed…repeatedly.

Despite all of our efforts he declined quickly. We did everything they instructed us to do. We tried to keep him comfortable. Our whole blessed family took turns taking care of him. Claudia had a bed for him at the warehouse for those last few days, but more often than not one would find him curled up in her lap when she worked at the computer, taking him for a ride as she rolled from one place to another in her chair. Artie too, when he thought no one was looking.

They showed such understanding and sympathy when they tell her… no, tell told US. A decision needed to be made. They leave the room to give us privacy. She doesn't understand what they are saying. I have to explain it to her. It is heart wrenching to watch her as she stands there stroking his wasted body with such tenderness. How do I even begin to explain this? Her face twists into anguish when she finally comprehends what decision we must make. We agree what is best for him. She leaves to wait in the car. She can't bear to stay and be witness, yet she doesn't want him left alone. I understand. I love her and I stay, stroking him as tenderly as she had.

They are preparing for this dreaded duty of theirs. I imagine mechanically. Repeating the actions on muscle memory alone, blocking out their own emotions unable to release them until they are home alone. How do they do this every day; watch a life quietly slip through their fingers? How can they bear to witness that last gasp, over and over again? Helena is too familiar with that sight. Are they immune to it now; the pain and suffering of the innocent lives surrounding them? They know sometimes their efforts are just a patch. But life, by nature, is ultimately unfixable. Do they cry too after weeks of care and attention, patching their patients up and sending them home? Do they get attached too? Did he weasel his way into their hearts like he did all of ours? Do they cry for what they can't fix? How do they manage this every day? Do they still cry? It makes my job look easy.

The ride home is unbearable, the silence drowning out all other sound. Who knew that silence could be so loud? She's sitting in the passenger seat, tears dripping off her chin dropping onto her lap leaving little dark spots behind. She gave up wiping them from her face a long time ago, the tissues now crumpled and forgotten in her hand. Drip, drip, drip. They have no rhythm. Funny, how I never thought about tears having rhythm before. Now I see her tears and I think about it. I just wish they didn't have to exist. They must be there. She needs those tears. I need mine. I have them somewhere, don't I?

I pull off the road three times because I can't see the road. She stares out the window in front of her. She doesn't notice when I pull off the road, or maybe she does. I lean against the car door and try to pull myself together. My tears have no rhythm either. Why don't they have a rhythm? Doesn't all life have a sense of internal rhythm? I get in the car and I reach over the middle console for her hand and feel a strong pulse in her wrist. Ah, finally a rhythm! I grasp those long, slender fingers seeking solidity and warmth and squeeze her smaller hand softly. I desperately need this from her. She needs it from me. I know because she squeezes back and doesn't let go. We aren't ready to let go. Maybe you never really let go. So I hold tight, never wanting to let go.

I'm supposed to feel something, aren't I? I don't feel anything. I want to ask her if she feels anything, but I'm afraid to. She sits so still and stares blankly out the window. She's lost so much already. "But, love, I've gained so much in return," she's reminded me in the heaviness of night so many times. What will the dark be like when the light is already so heavy?

She didn't want him. She was adamant. The Regents said he was Emily's so now he was hers. This must be another one of their twisted jokes. She'd never had a cat before, and couldn't comprehend having one. "A cat? Why would I want a cat?" She was bewildered. She insisted he was not hers. He was Emily's and they could bloody well find another Emily in their bag of tricks for him. Oh, she sputtered for weeks.

He was a sly one. She ignored him, but he didn't give up. He claimed her as his. He followed her around everywhere. Claudia suggested that we rename him Velcro. How confused he must have been. She smelled like his, but she didn't act like his. He persevered.

He slept with Emily. He never had to share before. That first night he insisted on sleeping on my side of the bed, and then by her head. She locked him out of the room, but he protested loudly. He ended up at our feet. He knew how to compromise. She tried once to push him off, but he had staying power. He never let go of the covers, rocking like a boat with the waves. She finally gave up. She was never one to just give up. He rewarded her by purring while making happy paws. Oh, the changes he would bring. We didn't know.

Soon he was curling up in her lap on the sofa or in a chair when she read. He didn't give her a choice. She pushed him off and he jumped right back. Once again, she finally gave up. She stroked his fur absent-mindedly. She didn't know she sought out his warmth and the music of his voice as he purred. No one said anything, not daring to bring attention to it. I didn't realize that he and I mirrored that same sight as well. Steve calmly pointed that fact out with that knowing smile of his. Our routine soon evolved into the three of us all wrapped together with our books and our morning snuggle time in the early dawn as he nudged each of our hands in turn for a few more chin rubs.

He brought us closer together during those early days of transition from the "you and me" into "us". During arguments he stood between us with a watchful eye, never taking sides. When one or the other of us was away on assignment, we knew the other was not alone, but safe under the watchful eye of our little protector. When I'd get home in the middle of the night, he'd always be sitting close to her head, her hand resting on his silky fur, seeking the security lost in the temporarily vacated bed. One day she said the same of me. "I know you're safe," she said "I always come home to find him sitting by your head until I get in and crawl into your arms. Then he moves to the foot of the bed and falls asleep." I didn't know.

I didn't know what it meant.

Steve and Claudia are on assignment. No one will tell them until they get home. I texted Pete before I left the building: 'at peace.' It was all I could type. He'll know what I mean. I know he'll be waiting on the porch, pacing.

We are finally home. Her tears have stopped for now. What do I do now?

Pete meets us at the car. When we get out I feel the tears fighting to reappear once more. She doesn't say anything as she walks into his arms and buries her head in his chest and sobs. Looking at me in surprise, tears in his own eyes, he gently closes his arms around her and holds her close, not saying a thing. Despite the bickering and his initial distrust, they have formed a bond. We didn't know.

She has calmed and he whispers in her ear. She nods slightly and releases her new found big teddy bear and heads to our now empty bedroom.

"Pete, what do I do?" I ask, once again in tears myself. "Dickens is gone, and I don't know what to do for her? I don't even know what I need for myself?" I'm now sobbing in his warm embrace. "We loved him and didn't even know. What happens now?"

"It's simple, Myka. You do what he would have done. Just be with her and hold on to each other. You'll figure it out together."

If only we had known.

Maybe we did.


	2. Helena

* * *

That was all I heard. "We can't fix him."

Everything can be fixed, can't it? I do it every day. I've always been able to fix things. Well, almost everything. I couldn't fix Christina. I tried so hard, but she couldn't be fixed. Everything becomes a fixed point in time. I am numb. We tried for so long to make him better. Our whole family pulled together these few weeks to make him comfortable. I even caught Pete with him in his bed when we came back from assignment. We let them be. We came home in the middle of the night once to find Claudia sleeping with him in our bed. We slept in her bed, again not wanting to disturb their peace. Was it all just a patch job, a quick fix? Isn't that what a life finally comes down to? No, it serves more than that. Eventually everything must die. I of all people am well aware of that fact. I am not ready. I didn't know. He was just there, seeping into my pores like an unknown sweet air that surrounds us. I loved him. Myka loved him. But he was never mine; never ours. He wasn't even Emily's. We were his. Why did I deny myself that knowledge?

What the hell is kidney failure? Well, beyond the obvious. It is 'kidney failure'. They said it like it's nothing new. Apparently it isn't, at least not to them. I can't comprehend. I don't understand what they are saying. I can't respond. For once I am without words. I cannot even think now. "It's time to decide what to do." What does that mean? Myka knows what I do not. I see the pain in her eyes as she looks at me. She thinks he is mine. I stare back at her blankly, caressing his poor wasted body, purring. I know I've said it before. I can't help repeating it all to myself. He is not mine. He was Emily's, not mine. Somewhere in this timeline he became ours. Myka's and mine. No. We became his. Of that I have no doubt. She understands I cannot comprehend what they are saying. She needs to explain it to me.

Kill him? Is that what she is explaining? NO! I've seen too much death, experienced it myself, or at least that is what I'm told. I don't remember it. Pain and suffering. That I understand. Letting him go? How can I just choose to "let him go?" Is it still not the equivalent of killing? Stop suffering. That I understand. I've suffered enough to understand that. I see it in her eyes. She is in pain; for me, for herself, for him.

I can hear them through the door. I'm closer to it than she is. Secret service my ass. My hearing is better. Quietly they discuss behind that closed door. How much he is suffering. How sweet he is. The sadness. The tears. Who knew they cried? They do this all the time I understand. She doesn't even live with them. Someone excuses themselves and it is silent. Silence is deafening. They patiently wait. I know what is right. I'd do it again. I can't stay. Images of Christina flash before me repeatedly. I cannot relive that. He's no longer just a cat. His life had a purpose. She graciously stays behind as I go to the car. On a good day I'm agnostic, a bad day an atheist. Today is a bad day.

She stops before getting in the car and I see her take a deep, cleansing breath. I know she's texted Pete. He'll be waiting. A few short words are all she'll need, all she could accomplish. He understands. He'll be waiting. I still have no words to speak when she starts the car. We sit for what seems an eternity. Not looking at each other and not speaking. I feel guilty….she stayed behind alone for me. She's trying so hard to stay composed…for me. I can't look. She'll come undone.

We stop three times. I don't acknowledge this. She needs to compose herself. I cannot help her. My own tears refuse to stop. I gave up trying. We continue the ride home in the deafening silence. She takes my hand in hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. It's warm and solid and full of life. I need this as much she does. It has become a primal need of ours this physical bond. Such a small thing, but it is our whole world in this moment. We need this touch, this connection. It's alive. I want to reassure her. I don't know how. How do I comfort her when I cannot comfort myself? So, I squeeze her hand back and hold on tightly refusing to let go. I stare out the window. I know nothing else.

He gave so much. She dwells too often on what I've lost. I remind her often, in the heaviness of the dark, "But look how much I have gained." I hate the pain I see in her face. We tried for so long to make him better, keep him comfortable. There is no answer. He couldn't be fixed. I know. I fix things. He was something we were unable be fix. He is a living soul, if you believe in that. I've been down that road too many times already. I don't know what I believe.

The light is so heavy. How will we face the dark of the night?

No. I was adamant I did not want that cat. Was this another sick joke of the Regents'? He was not mine. He was part of Emily's existence. Emily is gone. She is yet another death on my conscience. Did she die so that I could live? Did she really even exist? It was, after all my body. They wouldn't take him back. What the bloody hell does one do with a cat?

Oh, but he would not leave me alone! When would he realize I was not his Emily? What did he want? The bed I realized that first night. I locked him out. He was very vocal in his protest. I gave in. I really did not want to keep the rest of my family awake. He tried to push Myka out, the little rascal. He wasn't used to sharing apparently. Emily must have truly had a lonely bed at night, so unlike mine now. We compromised with the foot of the bed. At least my feet stayed warm.

He didn't discriminate. He fooled us all. He watched Claudia and chased her hands while she worked, sat with Steve in quiet reflection, and softened Pete when he didn't know he needed it. We bickered often, Pete and I, but this shadow would always sit nearby, never leaving until we made an agreement, or at least a truce. Oh, and what of Artie? Every morning he exclaimed, "Get that cat away from me!" Did he really believe we would not notice the treats he dropped on the floor?

He was always there when Myka and I argued, which was often in the beginning. Always, between the two of us, he sat acting as moderator. He brought us together during those early difficult times. It was my first real and honest relationship. It was a difficult transition. Despite our complex attraction and understanding of each other, it was far from complete. I could not comprehend that it was possible, especially for a person like me, to be granted such a gift as Myka's love. He seemed to believe in us.

He took care of her when I was gone. Sneaking in late at night from a mission, I would discover them close to each other. He was wide awake by her head. When I assumed my place, snuggled close to the body and soul I missed so much. He quietly left us to ourselves allowing us the privacy of our reunion. Just the two of us, together. He gave me comfort and security when I missed her warmth beside me at night. I'd sleep restlessly until he settled by my head assuring me I was not forgotten.

We arrive home. Home. It is not home so much right now. We are missing one of our own, as short-lived as his presence was. Pete meets us at the car. Myka is anxious as she gets out. Pete is there. Pete. After all he and I have worked through it is Pete that is there to meet us. He looks at Myka, but pleads with me, his eyes tearing. He surrounds me with the strength Myka cannot find as I bury myself in his protective arms. She is afraid; for herself, for me, for us. Despite, the hardships we have suffered together we are now entering unknown territory. We are less one today. I didn't know. What a sly fox he was to work his way into my heart…no, our hearts. He was a little magician. No artifact has the power he had. I didn't know. Every artifact has its down side. His was the pain.

I can take no more. I am drained. I leave Pete and Myka behind and go to our bedroom. Where do we go from here? Maybe Pete was right when he whispered in my ear, "Do what he would have done. Find each other and have faith. You are each other's anchor. Only together can you find your light in the darkness." I know he will have similar wise words for his partner. That's how they are.

We will be left alone. We will remember him.

If only I had known.


	3. Dickens

* * *

I was sent to you. You needed me. They all thought Emily needed the company. However, I knew it was more. She was not who she thought she was. Something was missing. She was not whole. I watched over her. I distracted her from the part that was no longer there. She knew it wasn't there, but she could find no logical explanation to what or why she had those uncomfortable moments.

One day she was taken. I tried to protect her. It was my job, but a cat can only do so much. A stranger took care of me, but it was not where I belonged. I could still feel her, and she was alone. It felt different, though. She was now you. You were fuller. One more trip and I was finally home. You were there, but you didn't know me. That was okay. I would remind you. You were almost whole, but not yet. The missing part was there, but it wasn't completely connected. I was the glue.

A persistent teacher I was. I had not anticipated two students. It is more difficult to teach two to become one and still remain two. The parts were there, but the final product waited to be made. Despite your complaints you started to learn. You were slower than the tall one. I was gentler with you. She knew you were the part, she just couldn't find the glue.

You both did well. I guided you through the arguments and the adjustments. I showed you that you were indeed worthy of the gift you waited so many years for. I protected you and kept you warm when the other was gone. You learned to appreciate what wasn't there in the empty bed at night. During those times I stayed closer, just in case. I chose to sit by your head so you could hear and see me. You both always needed to touch me. I liked that. It meant you were grasping for more.

I was the teacher. You were my students. You learned well.

It is time for me to go now. My job here is done. I can do no more. The parts are now glued. You are fixed. Your pain is my final lesson. Depend on each other. Remember my lessons when you laugh at the memories. One more purr and a nudge and I will be on my way.

Thank you.

I must go now.

They both sat straight up in bed. It was dark out. The moonlight peaked through the blinds. They stared at each other for a long moment.

Myka finally tentatively asked the question, "You heard it, too… a… purr?"

"And a nudge on my face," Helena added bringing her hand up to her cheek.

"Yeah," they continued to sit in silence. "Did we dream it?"

"The same dream, at the same time? We woke at the same moment as well."

"I miss him." The tears started to pool in Myka's eyes as she reached for Helena.

"I know, so do I." Helena's forgotten tears began again. "My feet are cold."

They hung on to each other as they fell asleep with the tears drying on their faces.

In the corner of the room a shadow sits and watches, then disappears.


End file.
